Frost

The bricks fell puddles of poodle lace.
Lost vitality
thrust against a window pane.
The frost smear of a bloody pulp,
sent Jack Frost fleeing to the trees.

Hiding in the forest of fears,
laughing in incandescent candlelight.
Sprinting from promises
of pure plaided lust.
Tears streaming, lapping the brook
of sincerity and obsessive lust.

A decade of questioning
and hurt souls, crying out,
seeking new freedom
and wanton desire.

The rush naked over needle beds,
under evergreen bows.
Aromas chastising our ecstasy,
as the beasts watch our union.

Stealing glances into
forbidden treasure of deep,
within a molten soul.

Clasped thievery,
smashed a sickle of glass.
Disproving an eternity
or purgatory,
came falling into a burning hell.